He gave me adrenaline, passion and thrill. I just didn't know at what cost...
When small town girl Mia Thorpe moves to London to begin a new life, the last thing she expects is to fall head over heels for the charming yet mysterious Grayson Cooper...
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The cold, crisp air of the city does wonders in calming the remains of an unforgiving hangover.
With quick, missioning steps, I head towards the nearest tube station, reminding myself of the journey five times over.
Old Street, Kings Cross, then the Piccadilly Line to Leicester Square.
I tell it to myself once more for good luck.
Expectedly, the tubes are brimming. Tourists, commuters, and locals all pushing their way into the hot, humid carriages, looking for anywhere to stand where there is easy access to the doors.
Of course, this does nothing to calm my nerves. Once I find myself on the first train, I close my eyes in the hope that the journey will be over as quickly as it started.
***
With relief washing through my veins, I gather a breath when I emerge from Leicester Square station. The cold, fresh air hugs my body, saving me from the warm winds of the tube. As I take a few more steps into the open area, I roll my shoulders and smile. I knew that living in London would come with its challenges, but this daily commute is going to take some getting used to.
In the centre, I can't help but squirm with excitement. My eyes dart to the lit up bars, restaurants, shops and general tourist attractions. Music blares from every direction, and in front of amused crowds, performers showcase their talents.
Yeah. I can see myself living here for a long, long time.
Pulling out my phone, I follow the map to Saint and City. I make a couple of steps, then stop again. Because my eyes hit the glass building in front of me, and it takes me a couple of minutes to realise what it is.
Plasma.
I gulp, shifting my bag higher up my shoulder. How does this place look so different in the day? You can barely believe that it's a nightclub at all—no plasma effects, no lighting, no music and no guests. With my heart flying into my throat, all I can think about is him.
My barman.
I didn't even get his name. Nothing.
My body fizzles at the memory of him; his touch, his smile, his heart-stopping eyes and that edge of humour and trouble that emitted from his presence alone. He was perfect. A perfect stranger who walked into my life and left just as quickly.
Then I wonder if he's in there right now. He could be; he could be setting up for another wild night; he could be thinking of me too. Could he?
No. Of course he isn't thinking of me. Why would he? He doesn't even know me and I more than embarrassed myself last night. Besides, he probably flirts like that with loads of girls.
With a sigh—and a shake of the head—I continue on my route, marching with determination and cursing silently for allowing myself to think of him. There was nothing there. We're just strangers, and I have more important things to be thinking about right now.
